He read it eagerly, not with any desire to discover publicity for himself--rather the reverse. He looked to discover how far the pernicious habit of publicity might be damaging to the cause in which he was working. He sighed in relief as he came to the end of the paragraph. For once the press had exercised laudable restraint. There was nothing in it calculated to inspire curiosity or even comment. It simply stated that a department in the Dorby yards had been taken over by the Board of Admiralty to relieve the congestion in the Naval Construction yards. He thrust the paper aside, drew a telegram pad towards him, and indited an address upon it. "Veevee, London." Then he paused and looked up as the door in the panelling of the room was thrust open and his secretary presented himself. "It's the telephone, and a woman's voice speaking, Mr. Farlow," he said, with a whimsical smile. "I endeavored to get her name, but she refused it. I warned her that I could not call you without she stated her business, or gave her name. Finally she said I had better tell you that 'Veevee, London,' wished to speak to you urgently. I wrote the name down so there should be no----" "You can put me through--at once." The crisp response was not without significance to the younger man, and Harold Heathcote departed with the mental reservation that "even with Cabinet Ministers you never can tell." A few moments later the telephone receiver on Ruxton Farlow's table purred its soft challenge, and he picked it up in hasty and delighted anticipation. In a moment he recognized Vita Vladimir's voice. His dark eyes smiled at the sunlit window as he replied to her enquiry. "Yes. It's Ruxton Farlow speaking. How-do-you-do? Most extraordinary coincidence. I was just writing out a telegram to you. I was wond---- Yes, it's ages. I've a lot to tell you about--things. Eh? You must see me to-night. Why, that's delightful. I am in great good luck. Not sure about the luck?" He laughed confidently. "I am. Eh?" His laugh had died out abruptly. "Bad news. That's---- Well, where shall I see you? Not at--all right. Could you manage dinner with me somewhere? Ah, anywhere you choose. What's that? The Oberon? The West Room? Will that be all right in view of the--bad news? Yes, I agree. It is sufficiently secluded. Shall we say at eight o'clock? You're sure it quite suits you? Splendid. Yes. Then good-bye--till eight o'clock." Ruxton replaced the receiver, and, for a moment, sat staring out at the sunlit square. His eyes were half smiling still, but there was a puzzled, slight elevation of his level brows. He was thinking, speculating as to the nature of the bad news. But even bad news which again brought him into contact with the Princess Vita was robbed of more than half its significance.